


The Unbelievable Adventures of Nightshade and Spark Plug

by DizzyRedhead



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Blind Date, Blood and Violence, But it's there, Competitive Boyfriending, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, Identity Porn, M/M, Not lingering on it, Secret Identity, i'm going to make that a tag i stg
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-12
Updated: 2018-11-16
Packaged: 2019-06-26 04:36:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DizzyRedhead/pseuds/DizzyRedhead
Summary: Derek Nurse, intrepid reporter for the Samwell Swallow, with the power to control plantsWilliam Poindexter, coder by day, exploring his secret fire superpowers by nightThey fight crime!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [methequins](https://archiveofourown.org/users/methequins/gifts).



> dereknurseynurse/methequins won my Fandom Trumps Hate auction lo, these many moons ago, and has been very super patient with all my life stuff that kept me from getting started on the fic right away. I hope it's something like what you wanted!!!
> 
> Rating is set to Explicit for later chapters, not for this first one.

Derek notices the smell of smoke first.

It’s not a normal smell for the heat of summer, at least not unless it’s accompanied by the aroma of cooking meat. And because he’s a curious kind of person--not nosy, whatever Larissa says--he follows his nose to try and find the source of the smoke. Sure, there’s probably some boring explanation. There usually is.

But sometimes--sometimes he finds something extraordinary. 

Like today.

As he gets closer, he hears weird hissing noises coming from around the corner, yelps and cries of pain. A smart person would probably turn and walk the other way. But since Derek has parlayed his inherent curiosity, and his writing skills, into a job at the Samwell Swallow, it’s kind of his job to see what’s happening. 

And he’s never pretended to be smart

That doesn’t mean he can’t be careful, though. One of the reasons he took the job at the Swallow instead of a bigger paper was the way all the Samwell streets are lined with green, living things, big old trees everywhere. There’s one just in front of him, and no one else around when he checks. 

Doing this without his mask makes him nervous; Derek has no interest in ending up in a lab with people studying him, or getting recruited as part of some low-rent Justice League knockoff. But he also has no desire to be seen by whoever is around the corner. Hopefully in the dark it won’t be obvious that the tree is forming hand- and footholds for him as he climbs, easing his way into the upper branches.

By the time he can see around the corner, it’s mostly over. “It” being pretty clearly a bank robbery in progress. The culprits are trapped within a ring of fire, one that spurts higher whenever one of them approaches, glaring impotently at the man in the plain black hooded superhero suit--the well-muscled man with, Derek can’t help noticing, a very nice ass. Those suits don’t leave much to the imagination, and Derek, for one, is grateful. 

“C’mon, man, we can make a deal,” one of them wheedles. “It’s expensive living in the city. What if you take half and just forget you saw us?”

“The cops are on their way,” the man in the suit says, his--also very nice--jaw firm. “No deal.”

Sure enough, the sound of sirens pierces the night, coming closer by the second.

“Fine, take it all!” the spokesman says, his voice desperate. “I can’t go back to jail!”

“Maybe next time think of that before you rob a bank,” the super says, his tone unsympathetic.

The three men inside the ring of fire start whispering together. As the sirens get louder, they take a sudden running jump, yelping as the flames lick at them when they pass over. But it seems like they took the super by surprise, because they make it out, accelerating as they hit the ground.

Not that it helps, because three long lashes of fire wrap around their ankles, knocking them off their feet. This fire doesn’t seem to be burning them, despite the sparks coming off of it. But it does hold them immobile while a new, even higher ring of fire springs up around them.

The first police car speeds around the corner, lights flashing and sirens blazing. Derek instinctively huddles closer to the tree trunk, even though the thick foliage is more than capable of hiding him, and even if it wasn’t, climbing a tree is just weird, not a crime. He’s still not interested in discussing things with the police, though. He is too brown to be fucking around with that.

When he looks away from the bright lights to see what the mysterious super is doing, he’s gone, vanished like he was never there. The only sign that he ever existed are the scorch marks on the concrete and the slowly dying ring of fire around the erstwhile robbers.

Derek stays in the tree until the police have left, taking the culprits with them, then makes his way down to the ground and back home, writing the story in his head as he goes. If he’s lucky, he can get it to the night editor in time for tomorrow’s edition.

* * *

“What the fuck,” Will says slowly, looking at the headline on his phone. 

“What’s up?” Chris asks, glancing up from his own phone screen.

By way of answer, Will holds out his phone. 

The headline isn’t actually that bad. “New Hero In Town?” in big blocky letters. It’s the subheading that has him glad he saw it before he got his coffee. “Spark Plug Foils Bank Robbery” it declares.

Chris only takes a couple of minutes to skim through the article before handing the phone back. “If this super has fire powers, why are they calling him Spark Plug?”

“Thank you,” Will says fervently. “Seriously, what the fuck is this Derek Nurse guy thinking?”

“Oh, Derek’s pretty cool,” Chris says, picking up their coffees with a smile for the barista. “I fixed his computer the other day when he spilled coffee on the keyboard, and he was really nice. Fun to talk with. Even if he does seem to have a crush on this Spark Plug guy.”

Will can’t help scoffing a little, especially with the sinking feeling that the stupid name is going to stick. “Yeah, but he can’t tell the difference between fire and electricity, apparently.”

“I think you two would get along really well, though.” Chris gives him hopeful puppy eyes along with his coffee cup. “I guess you’ll find out on Saturday.”

“Why--” Will cuts off as the penny drops. “Oh no. Chris, no.”

The puppy eyes intensify until Will’s a little worried he might end up blind. “He’s a really nice guy,” Chris says. “I think you two will have a fun time.”

“Is it too late to cancel?” Will asks hopelessly.

“It’s Thursday, so yeah,” Chris says, his relentless cheer not slipping even a fraction. “Besides, you need to get out there again. It’s been almost a year since you and Braden broke up.”

Will sighs, wishing for the umpteenth time that he could come clean with Chris. But they don’t exactly make etiquette guides for telling your best friend that you’ve developed superpowers and the reason you don’t have time to date is because you’ve been quietly fighting crime.

Especially since he has a sneaking suspicion that he’s maybe using the crime-fighting to forget about his single state. Possibly.

“Fine,” Will sighs. “One date. But if we don’t have anything in common, and I really don’t think we will, that’s it. Deal?”

“You’ll see,” Chris says confidently. “Cait agrees with me that you two would be good together.”

Will bites back a sarcastic response, partly because Chris doesn’t deserve that, but also because he’s at least half-convinced Caitlin Farmer will sense it from her job at the Boston Aquarium and teleport to Samwell to rip him a new one. “One date,” he repeats.

If he can foil bank robberies and rescue kids from burning buildings, he can survive one blind date, right?

* * *

“Hi, I’m meeting someone,” Derek says to the hostess, hoping his smile doesn’t betray his nerves. “Will Poindexter?”

“Of course,” she says, returning his smile with her own, carefully calculated to be warm but not personal. “Right this way.”

The walk to the table is just long enough that Derek has time to curse himself extensively for not being able to say no to Chris. But for real, after the keyboard fiasco, and the thing with the copier--his moms always told him he was going to grow out of his clumsiness, but at this point Derek’s starting to have doubts--giving Chris his firstborn would not be completely extra. One blind date is well within reason.

As they approach the table, though Derek starts to think maybe Chris did him a favor. Will Poindexter has broad, well-muscled shoulders discernible even through his plaid button-down and auburn hair that curls slightly above the shaved sides of his undercut. He even, Derek sees as he autopilots through the usual pleasantries, has freckles. His handshake is warm and firm, his big hand curling confidently around Derek’s fingers.

Maybe this wasn’t such a bad idea.

“So, Chris says you went to school together?” he asks after the waitress leaves with their drink order, turning his most winning smile on Will. 

“Yeah, we were both computer science majors,” Will says. He seems a little awkward, but Derek can’t fault him for that. It’s an awkward situation. “We still hang out sometimes.”

Derek nods, doing his best not to stare at Will’s forearms under his neatly rolled-up shirt sleeves. “That’s chill. I was an English major.”

Will’s face does something complicated that’s still clearly dismissive. Despite his best efforts, Derek can feel his defensive walls going up, echoes of every person who looked or hinted or outright said that he was wasting his time.

“That’s right,” Will says, one corner of his mouth quirking in an expression Derek can’t quite parse. “You write for the Swallow. Didn’t you do that article on the guy who stopped the bank robbery last night?”

“Yeah,” Derek says, trying to relax and be open. “Spark Plug, the guy with fire powers.”

Will’s mouth moves definitively into a frown. “If the guy had fire powers, why would you call him Spark Plug? That’s an electrical thing.”

“Because fires let off sparks?” Derek asks.

Just as Will opens his mouth again for what’s probably going to be a heated retort, the waitress arrives with their beers.

Unfortunately, the rest of the evening doesn’t go much better. They disagree on everything from movies to music to leisure activities, and even pets. And while most of their disagreements are relatively civil, Derek finds himself getting more and more tense with each failed conversational gambit.

Thankfully service in this restaurant is prompt, so they don’t have to drag things out forever. And the food was good, so the evening wasn’t a complete waste. Neither of them says anything definite, but Derek can see the awareness in Will’s eyes when they shake hands outside the restaurant. And they don’t even bother with a pretense of “we should do this again.”

At least he’ll be able to tell Chris he tried.

* * *

Will is waiting for his code to compile when the notification pops up over the level of Candy Crush that he’s about to lose anyway.

_ Derek says he had a gr8 time!  _ Chris texts, followed by a string of enthusiastic and borderline suggestive emojis.

It takes so long for Will to parse the message that his phone screen goes black. He thinks for a minute that he hallucinated it, but when he unlocks the phone, it’s still there. 

He digs through his contacts until he finds Derek Nurse’s number, with their sparse message history from setting up the date, and sends  _ wtf????? _

Of course, he immediately second-guesses himself. Maybe Derek was being sincere? Maybe he actually though that was a good time? It doesn’t seem possible, but stranger things have happened.

Fortunately the response is nearly instantaneous.  _ Bro, I panicked. He was so happy, it just came out _

Will barely restrains himself from replying  _ that’s what she said. _ He wants to resent Derek’s lie, and the position it puts him in. And he does, a little. But after having spent 4 years in close quarters with Chris Chow’s enthusiasm, and having made a number of questionable decisions when faced with said enthusiasm, he doesn’t have much room to throw stones.

_ Been there, _ he sends back.  _ R u planning to tell him the truth anytime soon? _

_ Do I have to? _

Will sighs.  _ Would you rather pretend we’re dating? _

_ Kinda, yeah. _

The thing is, Will knows he’s going to regret this. He and Derek had nothing in common. But when the alternative is telling Chris, even through text, that his blind date choice was shit?

Well, what’s a little white lie between friends?

_ We’re “breaking up” after a month at the most _ , he sends back.

_ Ur a lifesaver _ , Derek sends back.

Will’s computer chimes at him and he sets his phone aside, gratefully returning to the logic of code. Emotions will have to wait.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Worlds collide! Fake dating commences!
> 
> or
> 
> competitive boyfriending with Will and Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! For real, y'all, I know this has been a long gap, but I'm in gear now and ready to get this thing finished. It's completely outlined, so I'm going to be working on it a bit at a time between my original fiction writing to get it done by the Fandom Trumps Hate deadline (November 15th). Are you excited? I'm excited!

The police have come to pick up the would-be muggers, loading them none-too-gently into the back of a squad car as the woman they accosted gives her statement. There’s still enough time in the night to foil at least one more wrongdoing. Will is halfway through fading into the shadows when something catches his eye and he looks up.

There’s a guy up in the tree. Which, okay, isn’t inherently sinister or against the law, just a little weird. And the guy is dressed fairly normally, sweater and jeans, but he’s also wearing a mask like the one you’d see on a super suit.

When he notices Will looking, he flails for a second and almost falls out of the tree before--Will blinks, not sure if his eyes are playing tricks on him. He’d swear the branch grew wider under the guy’s feet.

“Shit,” the unknown super hisses. “Uh, hey, man, ‘sup?”

“Are you following me?” Will asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Can we, uh, do this someplace else?”

Will follows his gaze to where the police are standing. One uniformed officer is scanning the shadows, probably looking for Will. “Fine. Come with me.”

The masked man climbs down the tree with surprising speed, waiting expectantly once he’s on the ground. They’re almost exactly the same height, Will realizes. Tree Guy’s mask only shows his eyes and mouth, but they’re very nice examples--and this is not the time.

He leads the way through the alleys and side streets that have become familiar over the last year, waiting until they’re far enough away from the police that he’s not worried about speaking at a normal volume. “Seriously, are you following me?”

“Nah,” Tree Guy says. “I smelled smoke and followed my nose. Nice work with those mugger assholes, by the way.”

“Thanks,” Will says automatically. “So you just--watched?”

Tree Guy shrugs. “Not every day you get a chance to see a real live superhero in action. I was curious.”

“So why are you wearing a mask?”

He blinks rapidly at that. “Uh, I..”

Will waits for a moment, but no response seems to be forthcoming, and it doesn’t take a genius to put two and two together. “What are your powers?”

For a second it seems like Tree Guy is going to argue, or try to bullshit, but when he meets Will’s eyes, his shoulders slump a little. “Nothing useful, not like you. I can make plants grow. And if I get hurt, I can make stuff from plants to make it heal faster.”

“That sounds pretty fucking useful to me,” Will says.

Tree Guy snorts. “You don’t have to lie to me, bro. It’s pretty small potatoes compared to literal rings of fire.”

“I would have killed for some healing plant stuff when I was figuring out my powers,” Will says. “I burned the shit out of myself so many times.”

“Your powers burn you? That’s so unchill.”

It’s Will’s turn to snort. “The literal opposite. And it’s not my powers, those are fine. But any fires started by my powers--”

Tree Guy whistles softly. “Still pretty shitty. But it seems like you have control now.”

“I’m getting there,” Will says, immediately kicking himself for downplaying his powers in front of a cute guy.

“More than getting there, from what I saw.”

Will catches himself rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and pulls it back to his side, missing the texture of his hair where it’s tucked inside his suit. “Actually--would you be interested in teaming up? I may have better control, but bad guys don’t care if they hurt me. And I bet we could find a combat use for your powers if we try. If you’re interested, I mean.”

“Huh.” Tree Guy isn’t saying no, at least not right away. “I could probably help out as backup. The healing stuff doesn’t work as well on other people as it does on me, though.”

“That’s okay,” Will says, trying not to rush. “Even a little help would be great. It’s not like I can call in to my day job because some asshole bank robber shot me trying to escape, you know? And the ERs are supposed to report things like gunshot wounds.”

Tree Guy nods. “Okay, you’ve got yourself a deal.”

“Cool.” Will wracks his brain to try and think of something to say that makes it seem like he’s got a plan. “I can give you my number--shit.”

“Not a lot of room for a phone in that suit, huh?” Tree Guy’s eyes move over Will’s body in a very flattering way that also reminds him of how form-fitting it is. He smiles slowly before fishing a phone out of his pocket. “Tell you what, I’ll just put it in here.”

Will raises his eyebrows. “You really want me to have your actual number?”

“Uh, no, I’m gonna go buy a prepaid phone and send you that number,” Tree Guy returns, smirking a little with that mouth that Will needs to _not be staring at_ right now. “I’m just gonna put it in the notes.”

“Oh. Cool.”

Will rattles off the number to his own prepaid phone, and then he can’t think of anything else to say. So they stand there in semi-awkward silence for a moment.

“I--I’m gonna go,” Will finally says. Thank fuck the suit covers his blush as well as it covers his hair.

“Chill. I’ll text you once I have a phone.” Tree Guy turns to go.

“Wait,” Will blurts, then feels his face flaming hotter as the guy turns back. “What do I call you? I mean, I could just keep thinking of you as ‘Tree Guy,’ but--”

Tree Guy, unfortunately for Will’s peace of mind, has a very nice laugh. One that rolls through his whole body and sparkles in his eyes. “Yeah, okay, I can see that. Call me--” he pauses, still smiling. “Call me Nightshade.”

And then he’s gone, with a wink that has Will’s face heating up all over again.

* * *

 _Here,_ Derek texts as he pulls up to the curb outside Will’s apartment.

Instead of an answering text, he gets a curt knock on the passenger side window. He’d never known, before meeting Will Poindexter, that a knock could have emotional context.

Or maybe that’s Will’s body language, tight and tense as he slides into the passenger seat. “I could’ve taken the train,” he says.

“Hi, Will.” Derek makes sure his voice is saccharinely sweet. “How are you? Having a good morning? I’m fine, but I need coffee, so I’m gonna hit a drive-through. Do you want anything?”

Will sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes. The motion draws Derek’s eyes to the dark circles underneath. “Coffee would be good. Sorry, late night.”

It’s a brusque apology, but probably all he’s going to get, so Derek will take it. “And yeah, you could’ve take the train,” he admits, turning a corner on what Google says is the shortest route to coffee. “But this will give us time to get our stories straight.”

“At least something will be straight,” Will jokes. “What?”

Derek tears his eyes away and back to the road. “I just wasn’t expecting jokes from mister ‘I could’ve taken the train,” much less puns.”

“I’m like an onion,” Will says, leaning back in his seat with a little smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and closing his eyes. “I have layers.”

Gay puns and Shrek references and Will looking like a fucking snack in his car are more than Derek should be expected to deal with before coffee. He bites his tongue until they’re in the drive-through, replaying that disastrous date to remind him of why, exactly, this is a pretend relationship. No matter how edible Will looks right now and how long it’s been.

They manage to make it through ordering coffee fairly amicably, and Will miraculously manages not to backseat drive as Derek navigates toward the highway, although it’s probably a near thing a couple of times.

“So,” Will says once the cruise control is engaged. “Stories?”

“You know,” Derek says. “Pet names, cute stories about the dates we’ve gone on, that kind of thing. Really sell it.”

Will sips at his Americano, looking vaguely pained. “Do we have to?”

“Do you want to be the one to tell Chris we’ve been lying to him? And ruin his day with his girlfriend?”

Now Will looks more than vaguely alarmed. “Fuck, no. If we make him sad, Cait will destroy us.”

“Okay, then,” Derek says, savoring the feeling of victory. “Pet names. I’m not calling you Willy.”

“Thank fuck,” Will says fervently. “Um, you could call me Dex? That was my hockey nickname in in college.”

Derek is starting to feel like he has whiplash. “You played? What position?”

“Defense,” Will says, like it’s obvious which, honestly, it kind of is. Not that he couldn’t be a forward, but he’s definitely big enough for defense.

“No shit. Me too,” Derek says. “Not college, but high school.”

He’s gratified by the surprised look on Will’s face; at least he’s not alone in this confusion. “Huh. Weird.”

“Yeah. So, Dex,” Derek tries out the name, rolling it around on his tongue. “Dexy. Sexy Dexy.”

“I regret everything,” Will groans, draining the last of his coffee. “What was your nickname?”

Derek shrugs. “Nursey. Not much to do with that.”

Will looks disgruntled that he can’t find a way to argue. “Yeah.”

“That’s okay,” Derek says cheerfully. “You can call me babe, or sweetheart, anything. I’m easy.”

“Somehow I doubt that,” Will mutters under his breath.

* * *

Will is going to murder Derek Nurse. Slowly. Painfully. In a way that repays him for every moment of the torture that Will has gone through today.

The drive to Boston wasn’t that bad, Will is forced to admit. Even though Derek insisted on making up overly elaborate stories of their “dates” -- once an English major, always an English major, probably.

But the music was decent, even if it wasn’t Will’s normal cup of tea, and somehow they’d managed to avoid the disagreements and borderline arguments that had plagued their terrible blind date. It was even fine when they were finding parking and walking to the aquarium entrance. Like, they weren’t talking, but it was a comfortable silence.

Then Derek grabbed his hand as they were looking for Chris and Caitlyn, nearly making Will jump out of his skin. “What--”

“Time to make it look good,” Derek said, actually fucking _batting his lashes_ at Will like this is some historical romance. “Ready, Dexy?”

Will gives serious consideration to how, exactly, it came to this, and how bad it would be if he just turned around and left.

Of course, that exact moment was when Chris spotted them. “Will! Derek! Over here!”

Pasting a smile on his face over the blush he could feel heating his cheeks, Will allowed himself to be pulled along in Derek’s wake.

“Aww,” Caitlyn cooed as soon as they were within speaking distance. “Chris was right. You two do make a cute couple.”

“We do, don’t we?” Derek let go of Will’s hand, but only so he could slide an arm around his waist and pull him close. “I keep telling Dexy that.”

Will gritted his teeth as his blush threatens to go nuclear. “He really does.”

The next hour continued in the same vein, until Will was starting to feel like his face was sunburned from blushing so hard. Derek was always touching him--an arm around his waist or hooked around his neck, fingers brushing through his hair, a hand tucked into his back pocket.

And the touching isn’t even the worst part. The worst part is the talking. Not the words, or the frequency of them. But his voice, low and rich and intimate, like he and Will share a secret. And the way he’s always leaning in, his lips nearly brushing Will’s ear, his breath warm on Will’s skin--

Look, Will has needs, and he hasn’t gotten laid in over a year. It’s a lot, okay?

But the final straw is when Derek leans in--again--his mouth actually touching Will’s ear this time, and breathes, “Bro, I am so winning at this fake boyfriend thing.”

Will has never claimed he wasn’t competitive. Maybe it had never occurred to him to think of fake boyfriending as a competition until now, but he’ll be damned if he lets Derek Nurse win at it.

Sliding an arm around Derek’s waist, he pulls him in until they’re tucked tightly against each other. When he lets his lips brush Derek’s ear, it is absolutely, one hundred percent on purpose.

“Game on.”

* * *

Derek has the sneaking feeling that he just played himself.

He’s maybe been having a little too much fun winding Will up, but like, he’s actually pretty fucking cute when he blushes. Probably Derek shouldn’t find it so amusing, the contrast between Will pretending--reluctantly--to be his boyfriend and the little annoyed looks Will shoots him when Chris and Caitlyn aren’t looking.

So that’s been fun.

But now. Now Derek is the one with a blush heating his cheeks just as often as Will. Because Will is touching him back, those little casual touches that say “I like you” and “I want to be close to you” and it’s possible Derek sometimes forgets, just for a second, that they’re pretending.

But even with all that, it’s somehow still fun.

“Remember, Der-bear?” Will says, his eyes sparkling wickedly as he drapes his arm around Derek along the back of their booth. “I won you that flower crown.”

“It was gorgeous,” Derek agrees, doing his best to remember how things went in the one, long-ago improv class he’d taken in college. “The leaves really made my eyes pop. And then we took a selfie with the sunset in the background.”

He can visibly see Will suppressing the urge to roll his eyes as Derek snuggles closer. Yeah, this is fun.

“We did,” Will agrees. “And I made you delete all of them because I looked dumb.”

“You looked great,” Derek argued. “Next time I’m going to make you kiss me so I have a reason not to delete them. You wouldn’t make me delete our first kiss.”

Will snorts, but doesn’t argue.

“Ooh, you should do it now!” Caitlyn says. There’s a look in her eye that says maybe she isn’t as fooled by them as they want--or maybe Derek’s just paranoid now that he’s officially started his superhero double life. “Well, not now, there’s no sunset, but after dinner! We can go for a walk down to the Bay!”

“Babe, you can’t script their first kiss,” Chris says, looking mildly scandalized. Also, Derek is definitely paranoid because he _also_ looks like he’s trolling the shit out of them. “That has to be spontaneous! Like ours. Remember?”

Just like that, Caitlyn basically melts. Although Chris is also looking a little gooey. “Of course I do,” she says.”

Derek sneaks a look at Will and sees the same half-amused, half-envious look that he suspects is on his own face. Suddenly, faced with two people who are actually in love, not just pretending, the game seems a lot less fun.

“Be right back,” he says brightly, taking advantage of being on the outside to slide out of the booth and head toward the restrooms.

Thankfully, they’re single occupancy, so he slides inside, locks the door and just breathes for a second. He hadn’t realized how much being around people all day was wearing on him until he stepped inside and felt the figurative weight of it slide off his shoulders.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, but when he pulls it out, there are no new alerts on the lock screen. He’s confused for a minute before he remembers to check the flip phone he’d bought the night he met Spark Plug

_meet up tonight?_

_when? i’m out of town rn_ , Derek texts back.

He waits for a moment, but no reply seems to be forthcoming, and he really does need to get back to the table. Just in case, though, he keeps the phone open in his hand as he wends his way through the tables.

Just as he’s about to shove it back into his pocket, he sees another text pop up. _me 2. 11 too late?_

 _just tell me where,_ Derek sends before closing the phone.

As he closes the distance between him and the table, he sees Will tapping out a message on his phone. When he sees Derek, he puts it away, smiling like he’s actually glad to see him back. Like he missed him.

It’s very possible that Derek didn’t think this through.

* * *

Will doesn’t get a good chance to check his phone until after Derek drops him off. Or, well, it’s not like he couldn’t have checked it on the drive home. But Derek has already seen him using a smartphone; he’s not prepared to field the question of why he has a crappy flip-phone as well.

It’s definitely not because he was enjoying their debate over where the Marvel and DC Cinematic Universes have fucked up the most. Nope. Not even a little.

Regardless of how much or little Will is enjoying it, the conversation does make the drive back to Samwell go faster. Before he knows it, Derek’s car is pulling to a stop outside his building.

“I had a nice time,” Will says, his voice saccharine-sweet as he unbuckles his seatbelt. Except it feels weird, and kind of forced, because aside from the embarrassment, he really did.

He’s just reaching for the door handle when he hears Derek’s voice. “What, no kiss goodnight?”

“I don’t kiss on the second date,” Will lies after a second of frozen indecision. “Besides, you’re not even walking me to my door.”

He should have known better; from everything he’s seen today, Derek is just as competitive as he is. He shouldn’t be surprised when Derek immediately turns off the car and opens his door.

“I was just--”

“No no,” Derek says, coming around the car and pulling Will’s door completely open, offering him a hand. “You’re absolutely correct. Gotta treat my man right.”

And Will has definitely been single too long, because he should not have a shiver running down his spine at that kind of cheesy line. He does his best to brush it off, ignoring Derek’s hand because he can get out of a fucking car on his own, thank you very much.

Derek is undeterred, lacing their fingers together as they walk up the sidewalk to the door. His hand is warm, his eyes are shining in the glow of the streetlights, and he is objectively the most attractive person Will has ever dated, even for a little while.

Will’s libido is busy trying to convince him to ignore that disastrous first date and invite Derek upstairs for some sweaty, mutually satisfying not-quite-hatesex. But Will isn’t eighteen anymore, and his libido isn’t in charge. Mostly.

He stops them outside the building door, freeing his hand from Derek’s. “I had a nice time,” he says, so busy trying to be firm that it comes out completely sincere.

“Me too,” Derek says, looking a little surprised by the admission.

“Text me when it’s time for our next fake date,” Will says, unlocking the door and slipping inside before he goes and does something stupid. Stupider.

As soon as he’s out of sight of the front door, he pulls out his burner phone. Sure enough, there’s a text from Nightshade, confirming that he’ll meet Will at 11.

Excitement to be crime fighting isn’t quite a substitute for sexual satisfaction, but it’s what he’s got. And maybe seeing Nightshade in person again will help Will’s brain stop picturing Derek’s eyes and mouth under that mask.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Kudos and comments fuel my creative fire, so please let me know if you like it! 
> 
> If you like Nursey and Dex, Check Please, and a smattering of thirst posts and shitposts about actual hockey players, you can [follow me on Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com). And if you like stories about dumb hockey boys falling in love, you might enjoy [my author Tumblr](http://ariel-bishop.tumblr.com).


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Actual facts crime-fighting partners!
> 
> or
> 
> How they found out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically this was supposed to have been finished by now. But sadly, life had other plans. However, I hope you, gentle readers, will accept this extra-long chapter as penance. And not murder me for where I leave it.
> 
> Also, I have never made an herbal salve; all of the directions in this chapter were taken from instructions on the internet. Please don't consider me an authority.

“You okay?”

Derek looks up at the words, away from the salve he’s been putting together. “Huh?”

Spark Plug looks a little like he regrets ever speaking. He squares his shoulders in a way that should not remind Derek of Will--except how everything reminds Derek of Will right now--and soldiers on. “You looked like you were, I dunno, worried about something.”

“I don’t know about worried.” Derek flashes him a grin, doing his best to ignore the way his nose itches under the mask. It’s dumb to resent the way Spark Plug insists on the masks, to feel a sting at the lack of trust. But Derek still feels it. “I’m super chill like, all the time.”

“Sure you are.” 

Spark Plug’s snorting laugh also reminds Derek of Will, and it’s not fair. There’s this guy here, this hot, built guy with a wicked sense of humor who actually wants to spend time with Derek. Who has so much in common with Derek. They’re building a foundation here, and some day, Spark Plug is going to trust him enough to take off the masks. Someday they’ll communicate without burner phones. This is real. If Derek is going to fixate on anybody, it should be this guy.

But instead, he’s crushing hopelessly on his stupid fake boyfriend, because this is who he is as a person. Crushing so badly that he keeps projecting Will’s characteristics onto Spark Plug. 

“Hey.” A warm hand lands on his shoulder. “If you, uh, want to talk about it--”

“I honestly don’t even know where I’d start.” Derek lets himself savor the touch for a minute before turning his attention back to the salve. The olive oil in the top half of the double boiler has been heating with the herbs for a couple of hours and finally looks green and smells of the herbs. He lifts it off the heat, pouring the oil through a layer of cheesecloth in the top of a wide-mouthed jar. 

“Now what?” Spark Plug asks, watching intently.

Setting the pan down, Derek loosens the rubber band holding the cheesecloth in place. Twisting it tightly, he squeezes the last few bits of oil out into the jar. “That’s the first part. The oil is easier to apply as a salve or a cream, and it goes further that way.”

It’s hard not to feel self-conscious as he moves around the kitchen, even though he knows this apartment is just Spark Plug’s superheroing place, not where he lives. But being watched by those warm, curious eyes, almost the same shade as Will’s--

Stop.

He pours out the water from the bottom of the double boiler, then puts it back on the stove. The infused oil goes into it, along with a scoop of white beeswax pearls. 

“That’s how you make a cream?” Spark Plug asks.

“The first part.” Derek turns the stove to low heat and gives it a stir. “Once the oil and the beeswax are combined, it’s a salve. But the cream goes even further, and my skin absorbs it better. So we put the salve in a blender and mix it, slowly, with aloe juice and a few drops of lavender essential oil, until it makes a cream. Kind of like making mayonnaise.”

This part is usually pretty boring when he’s doing it on his own. Not that he and Spark Plug are talking much, except for answering questions. But it’s nice. Not being on his own. 

“So how does this work with your--” Spark Plug pauses for a moment, visibly trying to avoid using the word ‘powers,’ which is kind of adorable. “Your plant thing?” 

“I grew the herbs,” Derek says. “I paid through the nose to enclose my apartment balcony and turn it into kind of a greenhouse. The medicinal properties are stronger in these than in your average herbs. And I’m trying to infuse it with my ‘energy’--I know, I  know.”

Spark Plug raises his hands. “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to.” Derek rolls his eyes. “I know it sounds like woo-woo hippie bullshit, all right? But I don’t know how else to explain it. When you’re doing your fire thing, you can kind of feel it, right?”

“Yeah.”

Derek stirs the oil and beeswax mixture again, adjusts the heat downward just a bit. “When I’m healing myself, it’s like that. I can feel where there’s a wound, and I’m, like, I dunno, spreading my energy over it like superglue. It’s fucking weird. But it works. So I’m trying to do that here. Except it’s harder, because there isn’t a wound to feel. I won’t really know if it worked until we try it, probably.”

“Huh.” Spark Plug watches him in silence for a few moments.

It’s weirdly comfortable, just being there without talking. Making salves and creams is pretty chill anyway, but Derek’s never found himself slipping into this kind of meditative headspace with another person present.

Eventually the beeswax is melted, mixed with the oil, and Derek feels drained enough that he’s pretty sure he did  _ something _ with his powers. No telling if it works or not, of course, not now. But still. He’s hopeful.

Spark Plug--seriously, Derek has to come up with a better name to use for the guy--finally speaks when Derek pours the slightly cooled salve into the blender. “So, when would be a good night for you to go out again?”

“I’ve got a--thing on Saturday night,” Derek says absently. Most of his attention is on scraping the pan with a rubber spatula, getting as much of the salve as possible into the blender. “But Friday would be good.”

“That’s perfect, actually. I have a thing Saturday night too.”

Derek sets the pan back onto the stove and looks up just in time to catch the conflicted look in Spark Plug’s eyes. “Family reunion?”

“Huh?” He just looks confused now. “No, why?”

“Family stuff is usually what makes me look like you did.” Derek shrugs. “Just wondering.”

Spark Plug shakes his head, his--very nice, yes, shut  _ up _ , brain--mouth quirking a little at the corners. “Just a--well. There’s this guy.”

“Oooh, a guy,” Derek teases. He’s trying to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. Of course someone as attractive as Spark Plug has someone. “Someone close to your heart?”

“A pain in my ass is more like it,” Spark Plug mutters. “It’s complicated. I didn’t think I liked him, but now--well. Like I said.”

Derek nods. “Complicated. I get it, bro, believe me. Got one of those situations myself.” He’s half-tempted to prove it, to spill everything about Will and that disastrous first date and the fake dating and most of all, the way he keeps seeing flashes of Will in Spark Plug, even though that’s ridiculous. The way his stupid crush on Spark Plug is somehow bleeding over onto Will. Or vice versa.

But they’re not that kind of friends. Hell, he’s not entirely sure Spark Plug would consider them friends. They’ve never even seen each other’s faces. And he’s already got one of those “it’s complicated” guys. He doesn’t need Derek having crush feelings at him.

“So, Friday,” he says instead, watching the salve slowly cool, waiting for it to be ready for the next step.

“Friday,” Spark Plug confirms. “Ready for your crime fighting debut?”

Derek dredges up his best cocky smirk. “I was born ready.”

* * *

 

Will isn’t ready for this.

He spent so long learning to use his powers alone. Patrolling various neighborhoods, alone. Catching bad guys and leaving them for the police. Alone.

He’s still not entirely sure what led him to suggest that he and Nightshade work together--okay, yes he is. It’s some combination of the still-fresh memory of second-degree burns and his stupid libido, which keeps pointing out inconvenient facts. Like the full, lush curve of Nightshade’s mouth, or the way the muscles in his arms flex when he stirs his concoctions on the stove.

Which, fine. It’s been awhile. Will hasn’t ever gotten much action, but lately the closest he’s come is the torture that is fake dating Derek Nurse. It’s not that surprising that he’s attracted to Nightshade. Even without seeing the entire face under that mask, he’s pretty sure he’s not the first and he won’t be the last.

That’s not the problem.

The problem is that Will’s stupid, stupid brain keeps mixing him up. He keeps almost calling Nightshade “Derek,” keeps seeing Derek’s features on the little of Nightshade he can see, what with the mask, and the soft sweaters Nightshade always wears.

Projection is a pain the ass, honestly.

“Everything cool?” Nightshade asks.

Fuck Will’s life, now he’s convinced Nightshade even sounds like Derek. This has got to stop. After their little clubbing “date” tomorrow night he’s going to talk to Derek. Going to tell him that they have to “break up,” that this ruse has gone on far enough. They need to stop.

Before Will embarrasses himself more than he already has.

“Yeah, it’s good,” he says. “There are some other supers that patrol different neighborhoods. Everybody’s got their own area.”

“Do y’all meet up? Is there a Samwell Justice League?” Nightshade is practically bouncing with excitement at the idea. 

Will would like to call him a nerd, but he had the exact same thought when he ventured into this new world. “Not really. We don’t have meetings or anything like that. Sometimes, if someone runs into something too big to handle, they’ll get one or two others for backup. But most of them seem to prefer their own company.”

“Oh, that doesn’t sound familiar at all,” Nightshade teases.

Will is grateful the mask hides his blushes, but he can feel his face heating under the fabric all the same. “Anyway,” he continues, “It’s kind of boring a lot of the time. Some nights nothing comes up. I just walk around and see if anything is happening. Muggings, robberies, stuff like that.”

“Chill.”

They walk on in silence for a few moments. Will doesn’t want to notice how comfortable it feels, even just walking without talking, but his stupid brain won’t let him ignore it.

Thankfully, Nightshade likes to talk.

“So, your ‘complicated’ guy.” He actually makes air quotes with his fingers, which should not be as cute as it is. “Wanna talk about it?”

“Not much to tell,” Will says. Mumbles, really. “He’s hot, we have nothing in common.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Nightshade eyeing him. “Doesn’t sound that complicated to me.”

A scream, quickly muffled and followed by a quiet thud, comes from a block over before Will can make a decision between the two warring impulses. “Here we go,” he says. 

“Meet you there.”

And then Nightshade is up the nearest tree faster than Will can climb a flight of stairs. It creaks as it starts to grow, branches reaching up and over to let Nightshade onto the rooftop.

Will drags himself away from admiration and the mixed feelings. No time now for that kind of crap.

Now is the time to act.

By the time he makes it around the corner, it’s pretty much over. The decorative shrubberies in front of the neat brownstones have grown long, whiplike vines and restrained two men in dark, nondescript clothing. Nightshade is comforting a woman in a nightgown, probably the source of the scream.

“Here,” he says, offering her his phone and a fucking handkerchief, for fucks sake. “Why don’t you call 911?”

He’s so busy with the woman, in fact, that he doesn’t notice one of the men has managed to get a knife under the vines restraining him.

“Look out!” Will blurts, starting to run. He’s never going to make it in time, and Nightshade and the woman are in the way. He can’t use his fire. Unless--

Nightshade turns, with what seems like glacial slowness, but the wrong way. Toward Will, away from the knife, now aimed at what Will is very much afraid is his kidney.

Without thinking, Will focuses his fire power--his energy, Jesus Christ, he can’t not think of it that way--under his feet. For a sickening half-second he’s afraid it didn’t work, but then he launches through the air, intercepting the knife and tackling the guy to the ground.

The sharp pain in his arm almost doesn’t register at first. And then it does, burning through him, but Will forces himself to move despite it, punching the guy in the face as hard as he can.

It’s probably not completely kosher, but he’s pretty sure all he has in him is one punch. He’d better make it a good one.

It works, thank fuck. The guy’s head bounces on the pavement a little with the force of it, and his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Are you okay?” Nightshade asks from behind him. 

Will gets to his feet, fully prepared to make a snarky reply about how he’s a lot better than Nightshade would have been with a  _ knife in his back _ . But then the world starts spinning, very inconveniently, and he sits down abruptly. Definitely not a fall. A planned sitting.

“Oh, shit.”

Nightshade’s voice sounds far away. Will tries to focus on him, but everything is still spinning. 

Then he’s right there, kneeling in front of Will and reaching for his arm. Will yells, because it fucking hurts.

“I bet it fucking does,” Nightshade tells him. “Shit, this is deep. I’ve gotta do something, or you’re gonna bleed out before anyone gets here.”

Will tries to parse that, but he can’t quite figure out what Nightshade means.

Then everything goes warm. Or, more specifically, his arm goes from a sharp pain to a warm soothing glow that quickly heats to just short of burning. 

“Ow,” Will says, trying to pull his arm out of Nightshade’s hold. It should be easy, but somehow he can’t quite manage.

“Stop it,” Nightshade says absently, his pretty eyes fixed on Will’s arm. “Healing’s harder when it’s not me. I don’t know how much I can do. You should go to a hospital.”

Will shakes his head. This is a mistake; the world picks up speed. “No hospitals.”

Nightshade purses his pretty mouth in a disapproving grimace. “We’ll talk about this later.”

“The police are on the way,” an unfamiliar voice says. Oh, right. The woman. Will had forgotten about her. She looks okay now. A little scared, still, but steadier. “Does he need an ambulance? They said they were bringing an ambulance.”

“No, he’s fine,” Nightshade says. He turns to smile at her, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “We’re going to get out of your hair now. They should be here any minute.”

He helps Will to his feet, getting an arm around Will’s waist and encouraging him to wrap his good arm around his shoulders. Will does his best to cooperate, but his body doesn’t seem to be obeying him as much as he’d like. He can’t seem to stop shaking.

“If you really don’t want a hospital, which, I get it, dude, but you’re gonna have to work with me here. One foot in front of the other, let’s go.”

Will summons all his focus to do as Nightshade asks. Somehow they make it around the corner, Nightshade muttering things Will can’t quite make out with every step. 

The next thing Will realizes, they’re at the door to the crappy studio he rents to use as a home base. He’s still upright, so he must not have blacked out, but he doesn’t remember any of the trip back, either.

“Where’s the key?” Nightshade’s tone seems to indicate that he’s already asked the question at least once.

Will starts to reach in his left pocket for the key, then bites his lip to hold back the noise that tries to come out.

“I can get it,” Nightshade says, moving in front of Will and reaching for his pocket. “Please don’t tear that open again. I don’t wanna have to clean up the blood and I definitely don’t want to have to take your dumb heroic ass to the hospital.”

If he was in even a little bit less pain, Will would feel embarrassed, or maybe a little something else, over Nightshade reaching into his pocket. As it is, he stands there, swaying a little on his feet, as Nightshade gets the key, unlocks the door, and leads him inside.

Sitting down on the thrifted couch is maybe the best thing Will has felt in a long time. He has no idea how long he’s been sitting there when Nightshade sits down next to him, tugging at the cut edges of his super suit.

“Gotta get this cleaned up,” he murmurs. His voice is soft and soothing. For a moment, Will is confused. Why is Derek here, in his superhero base? But no. He opens his eyes, and it’s Nightshade. Stupid brain.

“I burned out most of the bacteria as best I could, but you never know what kind of shit got in there. I’ll be careful, but you don’t want this to get infected. There’d be all kinds of questions to answer then.”

Will lets his head sag back against the couch. Derek--no, Nightshade is probably right, but he can’t bring himself to care about much of anything right now. As long as he doesn’t want Will to move, Nightshade can do whatever he wants. 

As it turns out, what he wants is to clean off Will’s arm, and then put some of that herbal cream on it. “I thought that was for burns?”

“It’s good for all kinds of healing.” Nightshade doesn’t look up from where his hands are smoothing the cream over Will’s skin. 

Will can’t tell for sure, but it looks like the cut is closed up. That can’t be right, though. “Thought it was deep.”

“It was.” His mouth twists into an expression Will can’t quite decipher. “My healing doesn’t usually work that well on someone who isn’t me. You really scared me there.”

“Was aiming for your kidney,” Will mutters, letting his eyes slide closed again. “Coulda killed you.”

“Could’ve killed  _ you. _ Hey. No sleeping on me yet, Mr. Hero. You need to eat after that stunt with your fire. Probably burned up all your reserves.”

Forcing his eyes open takes a Herculean effort. “Pretty cool though, right?”

Nightshade rolls his eyes and somehow manages to make it look fond. “Yes. Very cool. Hopefully you don’t die. Now drink this.”

Will takes the cup, surprised to find his hand shaking. “What is it?”

“Protein, carbs, fats. It won’t restore all the energy you used, but hopefully enough that you don’t sleep for a week.”

The mixture in the cup looks disgusting, but Will can’t afford to miss a week of work, so he takes a gulp, flinching reflexively. His eyes widen so fast it hurts when the flavor actually hits his tongue, rich and creamy like a milkshake, but nutty too. “Hey, this tastes good!”

“Don’t sound so surprised.” Nightshade takes a drink of his own concoction. “I’m not brand new. Drink all that and I’ll let you get some sleep. But I’m checking on you in the morning to make sure you haven’t fucked up my hard work.”

“Bossy.” Will hides his smile in the cup as he takes another drink. Even half-asleep and wounded, it’s nice having someone care.

* * *

“Derek?”

“Huh?” Derek looks up to find all three of his dinner companions looking at him. “Sorry,  y’all. I got an idea for a new story last night and I was up late working on it. I guess I’m still a little out of it.”

Chris’s forehead furrows with his concern. “Do you want to just call it a night early? We don’t have to go out.”

“Are you kidding? And miss the chance to get Dexy here out on the floor?” Derek forces a smile, shoving his concern for Spark Plug to the back of his mind. “Not a chance. Tonight, we dance!”

“I thought you said your poems didn’t rhyme,” Will says.

Derek returns Will’s smirk with his sappiest smile. “Only for you, honey-bunny.”

“Oh my God,” Caitlyn says, mock-retching into her pasta. “Stop it, or I’m going to describe the fish breeding I got to preside over today. Because that might actually be less disgusting.”

“Oh! Was it the sand tiger shark?” Chris nearly knocks over his water glass as he turns to look at her.

It should feel weird, exchanging an amused glance with Will. Like they’re really a couple. Like this is really a date. But honestly, with everything going on in Derek’s life lately, this is basically the least weird thing that’s happened to him in weeks. 

He does notice, though, that Will looks just as tired as he does. Probably more, because Will is almost certainly too proud to deploy a little strategic concealer under his eyes like Derek did--look, if he was going to do the eyeliner and the gold shimmer eyeshadow, and he was, it just made sense to add the concealer, too.

“Long night?” he asks quietly, under the cover of Chris and Caitlyn’s conversation. “We really can call it early if you want.”

For a moment, it seems like Will is considering it, but then his jaw sets and he shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. For now.”

“Let me know,” Derek says. And if his voice is a little softer, a little gentler than it probably should be for this thing they’re doing, at least Will doesn’t call him on it.

So maybe he has a crush on the guy he’s pretending to date. Mistakes happen.

* * *

Will has made a mistake.

He should’ve just taken the out Derek gave him. Should have gone home early, taken his three-quarters healed self to bed and slept for 12 hours until he felt human again.

This club is exactly the kind of place he usually avoids. Filled with bright lights, deep shadows, and people so beautiful in so many ways everywhere he looks. The bass line throbs, vibrating through his body, in a tempo that inevitably makes him think of sex, of bodies moving slick and hot together. And not just him, if the people grinding on the dance floor are any indication.

It’s exactly the kind of place he doesn’t belong. 

But Derek isn’t taking no for an answer, towing him out onto the dance floor without so much as a look backward at Chris and Caitlyn. Before Will can do much more than be grateful that the wound is on his left arm, not the right hand Derek has taken, they’re swallowed up by the crowd of dancers.

He has no idea what kind of space Derek is looking for, but apparently he finds it, swinging around to face Will and pulling him close in one smooth, liquid motion. He’s inside Will’s personal space before he can protest--not that he wants to protest, of course. 

Like this, it’s immediately obvious that they’re basically the same height. Derek’s hand slides up Will’s arm to his shoulder, his other hand falling on Will’s waist to urge him closer, until they’re plastered together, not an inch of space between their bodies.

“I told you,” Will half-yells into Derek’s ear. He tries, and fails, not to notice the softness of Derek’s skin when his lips brush against it, the woodsy, herbal scent that he can only catch when he’s this close. “I can’t dance.”

“Just follow my lead,” Derek replies.  

The hand on Will’s waist slides down to his hip. Will settles for getting his hands on Derek’s back--that’s a safe place, right?--and does his best to obey.

“There you go,” Derek says after a few seconds. “Was that so hard?”

Will stifles an inappropriate comment about what’s hard. As close as they are, there’s no way Derek hasn’t noticed Will’s half-chub, just like Will is maybe a little too aware that Derek is in the same boat. 

But apparently they’re not talking about it. They’re dancing. Like a couple. Like two guys who are maybe three songs away from sneaking off the dance floor to find a place private enough to get each other off.

The thought has Will’s chest aching with something he can’t identify. Suddenly the whole charade seems so childish, pointless. Cruel, really, for him to torture himself with something he can never have.

He pulls back enough to say something--anything--to make his excuses, but then Derek is cupping the side of his face in one big, warm hand, looking into his eyes like--like--

“Can I?” Derek’s eyes flick down to Will’s mouth, then back up again.

Will nods as soon as his brain processes the question.

Before he can think better of it, Derek closes the space between them, pressing their lips together. 

Some part of Will registers that this isn’t like any first kiss he’s ever had before. Not just the setting, but how soft it is. Sweet. Derek kisses him like he wants it to never end. Like this one kiss is all he could ever want.

It’s perfect.

Until Derek’s other hand slides up and over Will’s partly-healed knife wound, making him break the kiss with a muffled yell.

Thankfully the club is loud enough that no one really notices, except Derek. He’s standing there, his eyes wide and surprised, his mouth soft and just-kissed. All Will really wants is to do it again.

Before he can say that, or indicate it in any way, Derek’s eyes narrow, his lips pressing together and tightening. He gets a hand around Will’s wrist--his right one, thank fuck--and starts pulling him off the dance floor.

Will follows, doing his best to ignore the sinking feeling in his stomach. To tell himself there’s no way Derek can figure him out just from a wound on his arm.

None of it stops the panic rising up like vomit. Especially when Derek leads him out of the club and around the corner into a relatively quiet alley, dropping Will’s hand and crossing his arms over his chest.

“Take off your shirt,” Derek says.

Will’s mind starts racing even faster. “Wow, no foreplay? Rude.”

“Poindexter.” Even in the dim light, it feels like Derek’s eyes are boring into him, searching out all his secrets. “Why did you yell when I touched your arm? Tell me or show me, but we’re not leaving until you do.”

“Fine.” Will starts unbuttoning his shirt, his hands surprisingly steady. It’s going to be fine, he tells himself, over and over, like his mother saying the rosary. It’s going to be fine

If this was one of his flannels, he’d only have to undo the top few buttons to show Derek the neat white bandage. But he had to be stupid, had to put on the forest green button-down that [ex] always liked, the one that hugs his shoulders. So he has to unbutton them all, has to shimmy and wiggle to get the sleeve down off his deltoid.

“Happy?” he asks. He’s already putting together a story, an excuse--he burned himself, or some other reason for a large white bandage down most of his upper arm. But when he looks up, Derek is staring at him like he’s seen a ghost. “What?”

“You--you’re Spark Plug.”

Well.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please note the updated chapter count! That's right, we only have ONE MORE CHAPTER with these goobers!

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not going to promise any sort of update schedule, because life loves to make fun of my plans, but I hope to have this finished relatively soon. 
> 
> If you like a random mishmash of content, you can check out [my Tumblr](http://dizzy-redhead.tumblr.com)


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